Not Ready for Prime Time
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Mostly experimental pieces/drabbles written for challenges. Multiple characters/pairings. Please read summaries/warnings before each piece, and let me know if there are any you want expanded on or polished! Latest: Sirius is de-aged/Rita is taken prisoner/Dolores falls in love (mind the warning)
1. Better (DracoHermione)

_Written for Gryffindor's 72-Hour Truth or Dare Competition. Prompt was Truth (title): Better._

_Warning: one swear word._

_Summary: Hermione is leaving Draco for someone else. (Didn't want to give too much away.)_

_Other prompts and author's note to follow._

* * *

**Better**

_Better,_ Hermione thinks when she finally finds the shirt she has been looking for in the back of her closet. She slips it off the hanger and stares at it for a moment, then presses the black fabric to her nose and inhales. Clean parchment and freshly mowed grass. The scent still makes her heart beat a little faster.

The bedroom door thuds against the wall and she spins around, an almost-guilty expression taking hold of her features. She's only wearing a bra up top, but that's the least of her worries right now.

"You're going back to him, aren't you?" The blond's normally proud voice is laced with hurt.

Hermione doesn't answer. She doesn't trust herself to. She merely pulls the shirt over her curls and savors the musk of the man she never really forgot.

Better_,_ to wear something that aligns more with her practical nature than the opulent monstrosities Draco has dressed her in the last two years of her life.

"Fuck, Granger, the least you could do is look at me."

She doesn't feel much like a Gryffindor as she avoids his burning gaze. In her defense, she's never been great at confrontation or breaking hearts.

"Hermione...please."

His switch to her first name and a gentler tone brings tears to her eyes and pain to her heart. Ron has never said her name with such reverence, and yet...she can't stay away from the redheaded man.

"Don't go. I need you."

It's a final, desperate plea that falls short of reclaiming her heart or changing her mind. She wonders, briefly, what exactly he means by that. But she's afraid to know just how much he needs her, and it doesn't change things anyway.

Hermione pushes past him without reply, but in her head she's thinking, _I'm going back to the man who makes me better._

* * *

Word count: 310 (excluding the title/notes)

Other prompts are as follows:

**Writing Club**

**Disney Challenge - Rex: (alt.) write about someone who doesn't like confrontation**

**Hogwarts Gym**

**Oliver Wood's Quidditch Training Camp Level 1 - Side Planks: Make a pairing using two of the following characters - Harry Potter/Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Daphne Greengrass**

**Paint by Numbers**

**Red (characters): Draco Malfoy**

**Hogwarts Yearly Challenges**

**Insane House Challenge #693 (restriction): start and end the story with the same word**

_A/N: Poor Draco. :( _

_Sometimes I write things that I really like but that I know could be a lot better. To that end, constructive criticism is always appreciated! Or just let me know if you'd like to see this polished up a little more. _


	2. Isn't it Lovely? (Pansy)

_Yet another thing written for Gryffindor's 72-Hour Truth or Dare Competition! Prompt was Truth (title): Isn't it Lovely?_

_Warning: internalized misogyny._

_Summary: Pansy reflects on (monologues about, really) Draco and Ginny's relationship._

_Other prompts and author's note to follow!_

* * *

**Isn't it Lovely? **

Isn't it _lovely_? What - haven't you heard?

(Pause.)

Well, I suppose it's not too surprising if you haven't heard, actually. My family just so happens to be very close to the Malfoys, you know. _Very_ close.

I guess the secret's not fully out yet, but I'll tell you anyway, because I, Pansy Parkinson, am nothing short of generous with my gossip. Well, here it goes:

Draco Malfoy, the _prince_ of Slytherin and the most handsome boy in _all_ of Hogwarts, is dating...that scrawny Weasley runt. Ginger or whatever her name is. I heard she's had, like, seven boyfriends now, the slag. Poor Draco will probably be replaced within the month. I've started a wager on it, actually. He deserves _so_ much better, though, don't you think? I think so, at any rate. He had his pick of Slytherin girls, yet he went for a Gryffindor instead. Ugh.

Of course, you're probably _dying_ to know how _I _feel right now, given that I once called Draco mine. Well, I feel just fine, thank you. It really doesn't bother me what he does. If he wants to be an idiot and date a filthy blood traitor, that's on him. I wonder if his parents will be able to talk any sense into him, though... they're furious, just _furious_, praise Salazar! I think they'll make him see the error of his ways. And if _they_ don't, maybe Weasley's brothers will.

It's just so _infuriating_ that Draco would see anything good in that girl. She's awfully plain and her hair is just horrible. Have you ever seen her wear pink?

(Pause.)

...that's just my point, she _can't_ pull it off with that red hair. I look _amazing_ in pink, as it happens. I was planning to wear pink to the Yule Ball, in fact - oh! I certainly hope Draco doesn't intend to ask _her_ to the ball. Hmph.

Anyway, my point is, this whole thing is a proper nightmare. What _will_ people think? Has he no regard for his reputation? For his _family's_ reputation? (She sniffs.) It's just so sad how far the mighty have fallen.

(Pause.)

Jealous? _Me_? Never. Haven't I just told you that I think all of this is wonderful?

(Pause.)

What do you mean, I sound sarcastic and bitter when I say that? It really is just _lovely_, isn't it?

...oh, sod _off_, then, Millicent. You're no fun anyway. And I'm _not _jealous!

* * *

Word count: 404

**Writing Club**

**Alice Young: write about someone being accused of being something/doing something **(being jealous, in this case - I'm counting it)

**Showtime - Michael in the Bathroom - (word): replaced**

**Constellation Club**

**Serpens - Mu Serpentis (restriction): no dialogue**

**Paint by Numbers**

**White - emotions: jealous **

**Yearly Challenges**

**Insane House Challenge #701 (writing style): second person**

_A/N: went back to my theatre roots for this one (I was a theatre major) and wrote a sort of monologue. I could hear Pansy speaking this as I wrote it, which was kind of fun. I still want to write another fic exploring Pansy's thoughts on a Drinny relationship (probably post-Hogwarts, though), but for now there's this. Let me know your thoughts! _


	3. Bad Omens (The Trio)

_Written for Gryffindor's 72-Hour Truth or Dare Competition. Prompt was Truth (theme): friendship_.

_Summary: Harry wonders if the crows are trying to tell him something. Hermione convinces him that they aren't. _

_Other prompts and author's note to follow. _

* * *

**Bad Omens**

It all started with a murder. A murder of _crows_, not an actual murder, but Harry thought it seemed like a bad omen nonetheless.

"What do you reckon they want?" he asked Hermione, nodding at the cluster of black birds in the Burrow's yard.

The two were holed up in the kitchen of the Weasley's house, washing and drying dishes after another long day of hard work courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. Only Hermione had been asked to do the dishes; Ron had been sent off to de-gnome the garden again, and Harry had been tasked with shining the cutlery once more. Harry, however, had taken one look at the cutlery and decided it hadn't lost its gleam since two days prior when she had assigned him the same task, and went to join Hermione at the sink instead. He had noticed the crows almost immediately, and he had watched them for a few minutes before broaching the subject.

"Food, I'd imagine," Hermione said, shooting him a puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged and took the casserole dish Hermione had just finished scrubbing. "I dunno, I guess it just seemed a bit, er, dodgy?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, it's not too surprising that you'd think that, given the...superstitions surrounding them." She said "superstitions" like it was a dirty word.

"Superstitions?" Harry prompted, reaching for a dish towel.

"Yes. Augurs, for one, believe-"

"Aug-what?"

"Augurs," Hermione repeated, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she worked at the mashed potato pan. Seeing Harry's confused look, she added, "Omen interpreters."

"Oh, right. So, what do these augurs believe?" Harry dried a wine glass carefully. He saw Hermione's eyes dart towards the kitchen door, checking, he knew, for Mrs. Weasley.

"Well, that depends. Some see crows as harbingers of death-"

"_Death?_" Harry echoed with a frown, pausing his towel movements.

"Well, yes, but even that depends on the number of crows observed, or the direction they're flying, for example."

"Sounds complicated," he muttered. He finished drying the wine glass and moved onto a teacup.

"I suppose it can be," Hermione said, "but I wouldn't worry about it too much, Harry. Augury - the study of omens - is a famously imprecise discipline."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"It is!" she said defensively. "It's the same sort of woolliness as Divination."

"Ah, that explains it," Harry grinned, thinking of Hermione's infamous exit from Divination class back in their third year. The teacup he was about to set down reminded him of that subject, too, and he snorted, then started to laugh. It all seemed so pointless now, school, when they were about to go hunting for Horcruxes, a perilous journey that, as far as he could tell, ended with him dying.

Hermione flicked some soap suds at him and he immediately stopped laughing so that he could dry off his glasses.

"Look, I'm sure it's useful sometimes," she said, turned back to the sink to rinse the pan off, "but it just seems like a lot of hokey guesswork to me."

Harry snorted and peered back out the window. "They're flying away, does that mean anything?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "It means Ron scared them away."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Ron came clomping into the kitchen, annoyed.

"Gnomes were in rare form this evening. Did you two see those crows out there?" He crossed to the sink to wash the dirt off his hands.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

"We were just talking about that," Harry told him, reaching for the pan that Hermione had just finished cleaning. He quickly relayed their conversation with some help from Hermione. When he had finished, Ron looked worried, much to his surprise.

"You don't think it could be...a warning? About Bill and Fleur's wedding?"

"Of course not," Hermione said sharply.

"Nothing is going to happen, Ron," Harry said firmly. "Like Hermione said, it's probably a load of rubbish."

Just one week later, as Bill and Fleur's wedding devolved into chaos, he would wonder if maybe those crows weren't trying to tell them something after all.

* * *

Word count: 691 (excluding title/notes)

Other prompts are as follows:

**Writing Club**

**Disney Challenge - Hamm: write about someone knowledgeable**

**Book Club - Grover Underwood: (plot point) wearing a disguise, (genre) friendship, (character) Ron Weasley, (dialogue) "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever.", (object) reed pipes, (action) flying**

**Seasonal Challenges**

**Days of the Year - 8th June: write about best friends**

**Elemental Challenge - Earth prompts (word): dirt**

**Amanda's Challenge - Jughead Jones: write about best friends**

**Hogwarts Gym**

**Oliver Wood's Quidditch Training Camp Level 1 - Lunges: Harry Potter must be the main character**

**Paint by Number**

**Yellow (item): teacup**

**Fornightly Challenges**

**Molly/Arthur (object): towel**

**Yearly Challenges**

**Insane Prompt Challenge #990 (first line): It all started with a murder.**

_A/N: I really love this (the trio is so fun to write!), but I probably need to do some more research on crow superstitions. Please let me know your thoughts, though!_


	4. Her Sacrifice (Marlene)

**_Warning: murder/death, torture._**

_Summary: Marlene McKinnon's final moments._

_Prompts and author's note to follow._

* * *

**Her Sacrifice**

"Not you again," Marlene hissed as the Death Eater advanced on her. His mocking laugh made the hairs on her arms stand up. "Killing my husband wasn't enough for you?"

They had killed John while he was on his way home from work the previous week. Marlene should have known they would return, but after nearly six days, she had naively started to think they weren't going to come back, that they had gotten what they wanted from someone else. They clearly hadn't, though. Otherwise she wouldn't be standing in her bedroom, heart pounding, cornered by a follower of the greatest Dark wizard the world had ever seen-

"Oh, no," the masked man said, and although she could not see his face, Marlene was certain he was grinning. "The Dark Lord-"

"You mean _Voldemort_?" She was stalling for time, trying to figure out if there was any way to relay a message without her pursuer seeing. It would be difficult considering she had been disarmed almost immediately. She wondered what had happened to the other Death Eater who had helped to weaken her - was he searching her home for the information they so evidently desired?

"Don't say his name!" The Death Eater's voice was angry, but he had recoiled as though he was afraid. "Names have power."

"And your master does have a lot of power, does he not?" Having given up on sending a message, she started to inch her way towards the crib in the corner of the room. Perhaps there was no saving herself, but Darcy...Darcy was innocent. Marlene would protect her baby or die trying.

The man laughed again. The sound was beginning to grate on Marlene's nerves. "My master has power that the rest of us can only dream of."

"Except Dumbledore," Marlene said softly. "He fears Dumbledore."

For a moment, she thought the man was going to hex her, but the next minute he seemed to think better of it. "You've got a very pretty baby."

The subject change had Marlene's hands clenched into fists at her side. "Don't look at her," she spat. "There's more good in her than in all of you Death Eaters put together."

"Well, here's what we're going to do, mama bear," the Death Eater said quietly. To Marlene, it seemed as though he was relishing his words. "You will tell me everything you know about the organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, or she dies."

To Marlene's horror, he was now pointing his wand at the crib.

"Which way shall I do it, though?" he mused. "Blow her bed to smithereens, or drown the little wretch? There's fire, too. Any of those would do nicely."

"No." Marlene's voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat and stepped in front of the cradle. "No. You'll have to kill me first."

This was the only option that made sense to her, and it had the added bonus of letting her vast knowledge of the Order's inner workings die with her.

"Admirable, but you have information that I need, witch," the man growled.

Marlene laughed hollowly. "If I tell you, you'll kill me anyway. And then, well, I shudder to think of what you might do to my daughter."

"This is not the time for heroics," the man jeered. "_Crucio_!"

Marlene felt the searing pain consume her insides and she squeezed her eyes against it. It was agonizing, but she found that focusing on thoughts of Darcy helped dull her torment a little. Darcy...it was all for Darcy.

"Did that loosen your tongue?" the Death Eater crowed.

Marlene gritted her teeth. "No."

"No? Been hearing that from you a lot, missy," he said. "Pity. You could have-"

The other Death Eater barged into the room and whispered something to Marlene's torturer.

"Wonderful," he breathed. "Well, this changes things." He turned back to Marlene and cackled ominously.

"Turns out I don't need that information after all; one of your lot turned on the Order not ten minutes ago. Lucky you, eh?"

Marlene's heart was beating faster now. If someone had folded, that meant the Death Eaters had no use for her now. And if they had no use for her, then-

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

A flash of blinding green light hurtled towards Marlene, and her last thought was that she had failed her daughter.

* * *

Word count: 724

**Writing Club**

**Book Club - Sally Jackson: (relationship) mother, (trait) protective, (dialogue) "Don't say his name. Names have power."**

**Showtime - More Than Survive (reprise) - (genre) Drama**

**Bex's Basement - James Potter: write about someone sacrificing themselves for their family.**

**Hogwarts Seasonal Challenges**

**19th April: Good Friday - Write about someone important to a cause dying**

**Amanda's Challenge - Buffy the Vampire Slayer: alt. Write about a strong female character.**

**Rock Em, Sock Em Robots Challenge**

**(character) Marlene McKinnon, (dialogue) "Not you again."**

_A/N: This little story is in this collection because it's not my finest work...the ending was probably a cop-out, but writing this was hard. I also don't know much about Marlene, but I like to think she was fairly brave because she was in the Order. _


	5. A Balloon for Harry (Jily Harry)

_Warning: implied death at the end (it's James and Lily, that shouldn't be too much of a surprise.)_

_Summary: Lily and James buy a balloon for baby Harry. _

* * *

**A Balloon for Harry**

Lily first saw the balloon in a small shop in Godric's Hollow that June. She was eight months pregnant at the time and prone to certain whims, so James didn't take her seriously at first when she insisted that the forest green balloon was perfect for the baby's bedroom.

"The little tyke's not going to care about a silly balloon, Lils," he laughed. "Besides, it'll deflate after a few days."

But Lily persisted.

"It's such a beautiful color, James," she said, eyeing it longingly. Lowering her voice, she added, "And we can always enchant it to stay inflated."

After several more days of Lily's incessant wheedling, James finally agreed to bring the balloon home. Lily squealed for a good five minutes, during which time he wondered if it was too late to go back on his word.

He kissed her goodbye, rubbed her stomach, and left, and when he returned with the promised object, it appeared that she had been waiting by the front door the entire time he was gone.

* * *

When Lily came home from the hospital the day after Harry was born, she was the first to notice that the balloon, which had been levitated above his crib, brought out the darker shades in his eyes. She held the baby boy next to it for comparison, and James had to concede that she was right.

"His mum has great taste," he grinned, leaning over to peck her lips.

"His mum can't believe you doubted her," she teased.

James laughed as Lily cooed at Harry and attempted to show him the balloon, too. She poked it gently with her finger, but he just stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.

That night, James dreamed of a green balloon that followed him around everywhere he went. No matter what he said or did, it wouldn't leave him alone, and when he awoke the next morning, he was covered in a fine sweat.

* * *

Sirius, Remus, and Peter were invited over a week later, and all were similarly impressed by how well the balloon went with Harry's eyes. James proudly told his friends that buying it had been Lily's idea.

"Banging choice, Evans," Sirius proclaimed.

"It's lovely, Lily," Remus commented in his quiet way.

"No, it's p-perfect," Peter squeaked.

James privately thought Peter had described it best. Perhaps Lily thought so too, for she gave him a wide smile and told him that he could hold the baby if he wanted to.

Peter shook his head violently, and the other four roared with laughter. Remus took little Harry into his arms for a few minutes, looking far more relaxed than James had seen him look in months. Lily would not allow Sirius to hold Harry, so he spent the remainder of the visit making the balloon bob up and down with his wand, much to James's amusement.

* * *

At around two months of age, Harry could jerkily follow the balloon with his eyes if it was pushed. James in particular took great delight in tapping it and watching as his son's eyes moved with it.

"James," Lily sighed, "you're going to wear him out."

"Just one more time?" he begged. She rolled her eyes and nodded, but when her back was turned, he tapped it a few more times.

"Who knew a balloon could be so much fun, eh, Harry?" he whispered. Harry let out a happy gurgle, and James ruffled his son's hair affectionately.

The green balloon appeared in James's dreams again that night, but this time, he was trapped inside of it. He found that he was quickly running out of oxygen in his rubbery prison, but he was roused from the nightmare by Lily, who had heard him struggling in his sleep.

* * *

On that untimely Halloween evening, Voldemort popped the balloon with a sneer and a lazy flick of his wand. It lay on the floor in pieces while the baby it had been purchased for screamed and cried, almost as though he understood that the people who had picked it out and bought it for him were gone.

* * *

Word count: 684

Prompts used are as follows:

**Paint by Numbers**

**Orange (colors): forest green**

**Piñata Club**

**Easy (item): balloon**

**Hogwarts Gym**

**Madam Pomfrey's Fun Fitness - Preacher Bench (colors): forest green**

**Yearly Challenges**

**Insane Prompt Challenge #887 (family): Potter**

_A/N: This just makes me want to write more Jily. :3_


	6. All That Remains (ParvatiDaphne)

_Written for the Pairing the Character Competition on HPFC._

_***Planning to expand this one! There's more that needs to be explained.***_

_Warning: Femslash. Daphne/Parvati._

_Summary: Parvati confronts Daphne about their relationship, and comes to a realization. _

**All That Remains**

"Are you ever going to tell your family about us?"

Daphne and Parvati sit on the damp grass by the Black Lake, clutching their cloaks around them. Parvati shivers, but Daphne doesn't seem to notice the cold.

Daphne is silent for a few minutes, and Parvati trains her eyes on the lake, afraid to look at her. Afraid that the answer will be written plainly on the Slytherin's face.

"I can't answer that right now," Daphne says at last.

"Why not?" Parvati turns back and finds that she has erected an emotional wall.

"Because...some things are complicated."

"Are they?" Parvati's temper begins to uncurl. "Or is that just another one of your excuses?"

"Parvati."

"Padma was right," Parvati whispers, angry tears springing to her eyes. "She was absolutely right about you."

"Your sister?" Daphne laughs bitterly, and Parvati flinches at the sound. "Your sister, for all her brilliance, is remarkably narrow-minded."

Parvati's fingers find purchase in the grass and she begins to rip it from the earth. It feels good to focus on something other than her wounded heart.

"No more so than your family," she retorts. "And at least Padma accepted me liking girls! She's even grown to accept me liking _you_."

The full force of Daphne's blue-eyed gaze hits her and Parvati forgets the surrounding world. It's just her and Daphne. The other girl's eyes swirl with an emotion Parvati can't quite identify, and she waits for her to speak.

"_'Liking _me?'" Daphne echoes, her voice soft. "Of course. What a fool I've been."

Parvati tilts her head and stills her hand. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I thought you felt more than that."

Parvati stares at her. "You know I do."

"Then how come you've never said you love me?"

"How come _you_ haven't?"

The two girls glare at each other for a moment.

"I guess this is why," Parvati finally says. "We're both so headstrong, defiant. Destined to fight, not to...last."

"Perhaps you're right," Daphne says quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of Parvati's hair behind her ear. "Perhaps this is nothing more than a schoolyard romance. But I'm willing to give it my best shot."

Parvati smiles sadly, ignoring the euphoria Daphne's words brought. "You always know all the right things to say, Daph, but I wonder...I wonder how much of that is genuine and how much of that is just you clinging to the one good thing in your life however you can."

"You think highly of yourself."

"I _know _you." Parvati's voice is gentle. "After all this time...I finally understand you perfectly. And I'm not willing to be a secret anymore."

She rises to her feet, her plait swinging with the movement, and looks down at Daphne, who suddenly looks very small huddled on the ground.

"I wish this could have gone differently," Parvati murmurs. "I really do."

She turns and walks back to the warmth of the castle, her heart clenching painfully in her chest.

* * *

Word count: 500

_A/N: let me know how I did! I'm new to writing drabbles, and this one had to be a maximum of 500 words, so I couldn't describe as much as I would have liked, but hopefully there's a decent enough balance of prose and dialogue._


	7. Lavender Brown, Wedding Planner

_Summary: Parvati needs a wedding planner and Lavender steps up to do the job. Muggle!AU._

* * *

**Lavender Brown, Wedding Planner Extraordinaire**

Lavender Brown found her calling quite by accident.

Parvati Patil, her best friend of over a decade, was getting married, and she didn't have a wedding planner yet. Lavender said she would do it, thereby saving the bride-to-be money that could instead be spent on the wedding itself. Mrs. Patil had sobbed and muttered something about "selfless youth" upon hearing Lavender's offer to plan the event free of charge. Lavender was just excited to try something new, after a long string of failed jobs. And really, how hard could it be?

It turned out wedding planning was something she was good at. _Really_ good at. She knew how to juggle the various components: the venue, the florist, the DJ, the catering. It was busy and sometimes stressful but she enjoyed keeping track of every little detail to ensure the event went off without a hitch. She liked feeling in control, for once. Besides, the look on Parvati's face when she saw the way Lavender had brought together the linens and centerpieces and flowers made every frantic phone call, every heated negotiation, _everything,_ worth it.

"This looks incredible, Lav," Parvati breathed. "I'm sure Michael loves it too...Michael!"

Her groom-to-be hurried over, looking worried. "Yes, love?"

"What do you think?" She spread her arms wide.

"It looks great," he said, smiling at Lavender. "Really fantastic."

"Thanks," Lavender said, then frowned. "Are the linens alright, though? I asked for light salmon but I think these are more of a pale pink-"

"They're fine, Lav," Parvati interrupted. "And before you ask, the bouquets are fine, too."

"Are you sure? Because I ordered periwinkle hydrangeas, yet these are more of a light turquoise - hey! I'm not done talking to you!" For Parvati and Michael had started to move away, rolling their eyes.

"Lavender," Parvati said gently, turning back to her friend. "We're really not too fussed if things aren't _exactly_ the way you pictured them. This is all better than anything we could have ever imagined, I promise."

The very next day, Lavender went and had business cards printed: _Lavender Brown, wedding planner extraordinaire. _

* * *

Word count: 350

**Paint by Numbers:** black (occupations): wedding planner

**Writing Club:**

**Disney Challenge** \- Themes - friendship: write about a friendship that's lasted a really long time.

**Angel's Arcade** \- Talim: (phrase) selfless youth, (color) pale pink, (dialogue) "Hey! I'm not done talking to you!"

**Lo's Lowdown** \- (relationship): best friends


	8. No Regrets (Ginny)

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments,_ **Assignment 12 - Criminology #13 (extra credit): write a Serial Killer!AU.**

_Summary: Four times Ginny killed and didn't regret it, and the one time she did. Serial Killer!AU/Muggle!AU, based on/tied into "Cell Block Tango" from the musical Chicago. _

_**WARNING**: This is a Serial Killer!AU and as such contains __**murder and violence**_ _(nothing terribly graphic, but still). Also contains mild language, adult themes, an unrepentant killer, victim-blaming and what might be considered character bashing on Ginny's part? Read at your own risk._

* * *

**No Regrets**

i. _they had it coming_

For the record, I have no regrets about killing so many people. Perhaps I should, but men are my vice and my temper is my fatal flaw. I accepted that a long time ago.

I've always gone from man to man, not because I _need_ them but because I dislike being alone. Growing up, my house was always crowded with boys. I was the youngest of seven and the only girl, so I suppose it just felt natural to surround myself with testosterone even after I moved out.

I've always had a temper, too, especially when pushed too far. So you see, it's really not my fault all those men had to die.

They only had themselves to blame.

...

ii. _it was a murder, but not a crime _

My own brother Ron was the first victim. The only things you really need to know about Ron are that he was always a bit clueless, and that he had this infuriating habit of loudly smacking his chewing gum. I must have asked him a thousand times to _stop popping that gum_, but he never listened.

One night, I was in a bad mood when I got home from work. I was hoping Ron might be sympathetic, that he would maybe offer to share his weed with me. I certainly didn't want to find him lying on the sofa in our shared flat, nursing a beer, watching trashy TV, and _popping _that damn gum.

But that's exactly what I found, and something inside me snapped. My brain was screaming _get the gun get the gun get the gun, _so I did. I grabbed the shotgun from Ron's room and _popped_ two rounds right into his head.

I won't lie and say I didn't feel a certain sense of horror upon gazing at the destruction I wrought upon his body, but I think the overwhelming emotion was relief.

Yes, Ron's death was unfortunate, but if you had _heard_ the way he popped his gum...you would have picked up the gun too.

...

iii. _he used me, and he abused me _

My next victim was my lover, Draco. I lived with that man for two years, thinking he was all mine.

"I'm a wealthy bachelor," he had said, and like a _fool_, I believed him. Together, we lived the good life; boozing, traveling, buying whatever we wanted. I hoped we would get married someday, but Draco didn't seem to want to settle down with me.

Naturally, I had to do a little digging to find out why, and I got an explanation as well as the surprise of my life. The bastard was already married - to _six other women. _

I didn't take kindly to this, as you can imagine. In fact, I was furious, and I spent a whole day pacing on and off. Eventually, a little voice awoke in my brain and told me _he needs to die he needs to die he needs to die. _The mantra became so loud I couldn't hear anything else.

When I mixed Draco a martini that night, I slipped some poison in and watched him drink it greedily before he took his last breaths.

You know, some blokes just can't hold their arsenic.

...

iv. _he ran into my knife ten times_

After Draco's death, I quickly married Harry Potter, but he turned out to be the jealous type. He wouldn't let Viktor talk to me, he didn't want me to keep in contact with any males outside of my own family, and he had this weird paranoia about the _milkman_.

Dealing with his efforts to control me was exhausting. I knew it was only a matter of time before I snapped again.

Harry stormed in one night while I was making dinner, yelling about how I was _screwing_ the milkman. Nothing I said made any difference; nothing I said made him see sense. He just kept shouting and shouting, and my brain started howling _shut him up shut him up shut him up._

So I stabbed him with my carving knife almost a dozen times. Now he could never control me again.

...

vi. _he saw himself as alive, while I saw him dead_

I reconnected with Dean Thomas next. I had dated him before, and had always liked him. He was so kind and sensitive, and he had a real talent for art. He painted me countless times in various poses. I _loved_ that.

"You're my muse," he would whisper adoringly.

I always wondered where he went at night, though. He said he was _looking for himself_, whatever that meant.

After weeks of asking what he got up to in the evening, I decided to follow him. Well, it turns out he wasn't really looking for himself so much as finding _other people_. People like Lavender, Parvati, Susan, and Seamus.

The following evening, I ran Dean a hot bath so that he could wash the scent of turpentine from his skin. When I went to help him wash his back, I held him under (_kill him kill him kill him_) until he drowned.

I guess you could say I murdered him due to artistic differences. We didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on his survival.

...

v. _washing the blood off my hands_

My brother Charlie had married this wonderful woman named Veronica, and the two of them generously offered to host me while I looked for a job. It was a perfectly nice arrangement, and I was happy, _really _happy, with my living situation for the first time in a long while.

That all changed one night when the three of us got drunk on cheap beer. We ran out, so I volunteered to go and get some more from the nearby convenience store. When I came back, not ten minutes later, I found Charlie and Veronica having a little _too much_ fun. Let's just say they were giving the phrase "bottoms up_"_ a whole new meaning.

I was jealous, I admit it. I was envious of my brother's relationship. He and Veronica were so...perfect for each other. I wanted that with someone, too - the sex and the moral support and the _true love_.

I don't remember what happened next; I must have blacked out from either the alcohol or the shock or both. Later, when I came to, I was covered in blood, and Charlie and Veronica were dead.

I cried for them. Genuine tears. They were my only victims I felt remorse for. They were the only ones who didn't deserve what they got.

...

vii. _how could you tell me that I was wrong?_

Prison is a lonely place. There aren't any men here, and I've never gotten along well with other women, probably because I spent so much of my time enticing men like a siren lures nearby sailors. All I can say for certain is that I don't like it here. The food is awful and my family never visits. I suppose I can't fault them for that when two of them died by my hand.

Some of the other inmates are disgusted by the murders I've committed, I can tell. My cellmate can barely stand to look me in the eye.

"I bet you would have done the same thing in my shoes," I tell her. The woman shakes her head, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes and that's enough.

What I did wasn't wrong. What those men did to _me_ was wrong. I'll spend the rest of my days here feeling guilty about Veronica and Charlie, but the rest...well, it's like I said before: they only had themselves to blame.

* * *

Word count; 1,279

_Other prompts used are as follows:_

**Fortnightly Challenges:** MUA - Happy Hour: bottoms up

**Hogwarts Gym:** Madam Pomfrey's Fun Fitness - Mini trampoline (themes): murder

**Writing Club**

**Showtime** \- 12. Upgrade (drink): beer

**Lo's Lowdown** \- 7. (weapon): knife

**Seasonal Challenges**

**Gryffindor (characters):** Ginny Weasley

**Yearly Challenges**

**Insane Prompt Challenge #551** (song): Cell Block Tango, from _Chicago_

**365 Words:** 334\. bachelor

_A/N: I freely admit I tried to do way too many things with this. AUs (like, straight up "not-at-all-in-the-HP-universe AU") are new to me, songfics are new to me...I went full experimental with this one and I will probably never write anything like it ever again unless people actually liked it. _


	9. Asking Fred (George)

_Summary:_ George_ needs to ask Fred if it's okay for him to date Angelina. Not fluff. Not even close. :(_

* * *

**Asking Fred**

"Fred? I did something...I did something really bad." George takes a deep breath and rocks back on his heels. "Erm, I asked Angelina out today, and she...she said yes."

Silence.

"I know you and her were kind of a thing, but I...well, I see now what you saw in her. I mean, I always knew she was fantastic, but Merlin, Fred, she's just so _strong,_ and _caring_, and _beautiful_, and I really...I think I really need that kind of person in my life right now."

The tears begin to fall, hot and fast, and he doesn't fight them.

"Obviously if you're not alright with it, I won't go out with her. I really didn't even think she'd agree to a date, honestly. Not when I'm...you know..._not you_."

A sob escapes him, but he plows on.

"I don't know what possessed me to do it. I guess we've just...bonded over our grief. I know I went about it all wrong, though. I know I should have...I don't know, _said _something so I wouldn't be standing here blindsiding you with this information."

He leans over and picks up a small blue flower laying on the grave. He twirls the flower between his fingers and continues.

"I can't even imagine how betrayed you must feel right now, but you have to know that my feelings for her are recent. I never...I _never_ looked at her that way when you were with her."

He pauses.

"I feel like I should make some sort of joke now, pretend like this is all a big prank, but I…I can't, and it's not. I just hope you understand."

George's voice breaks, and he gently places the flower back where he found it before straightening up again.

"I guess I'll wait for a sign or something from you. Just...make it an obvious one, please?"

He turns away, scrubbing at his face. After another moment, he draws his wand and conjures up a bouquet of bright orange flowers, their color reminiscent of his twin's fiery hair. These join the others that have been lovingly placed around Fred's tombstone.

"Rest easy, Fred."

* * *

Word count (minus title and author's notes): 362

_Prompts used are as follows:_

**Paint by Numbers** \- green (dialogue): "[Name]? I did something...I did something really bad."

**Fortnightly Challenges** \- Skate or Die - grip tape: 4. (genre) angst

**Yearly Challenges:**

**Insane Prompt Challenge #197** (theme): guilt

**365 Words:** 250\. fight

_A/N: You know what, it's okay, I didn't need my heart or anything. Also, does anyone else headcanon that George wanted Fred's permission to get with Angelina or is that just me…? _


	10. Just Fine (James SP and Harry)

_Summary: James Sirius Potter and his family go shopping in Diagon Alley. James is worried about starting his first year at Hogwarts - will Ginny and Harry be able to help?_

* * *

**Just Fine**

James Sirius Potter ran through Diagon Alley slightly ahead of his parents. It was not his first visit to the magical shopping district, but today's was an especially noteworthy one. Today, he was going shopping for school - Hogwarts, to be precise - and he was more than a little excited.

"Where are we going first, Dad? Oh, can we go to Quality Quidditch Supplies, please? Pleeeease?"

Harry laughed. "Alright. Race you there?"

"Harry!" Ginny scolded. "You can't race our son through Diagon Alley!"

"Spoilsport!" Harry called over his shoulder Ginny rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Despite everything he had gone through, Harry still had the ability to act like a kid. Those who knew him best saw this as his way of giving his children the childhood he never had.

Harry valiantly "lost" to James and the two entered the shop together, where they took turns oohing and ahhing over the various broomstick models. Ginny followed behind them at first, but she soon parted ways in favor of meeting up with Hermione and Ron, who were watching the two younger Potter children in addition to their own.

"Looks like it's just you and me, mate," Harry said, tousling his son's hair. James ducked away and grinned.

"Really? Awesome!"

...

After begging his dad for a broom ("First years aren't allowed broomsticks, and no, Professor McGonagall will _not_ be making an exception for you," Harry told him), James wanted to go check out owls and other creatures at The Magical Menagerie. The shop was packed with other families buying animals for their children as well. Harry laughed when he saw James eyeing a toad nervously.

"Neville - Professor Longbottom - had one of those," he said, nodding toward the warty creature. "Named him Trevor. Was always losing him, the poor chap. One time he found Trevor in the girl's toilets."

James laughed, but quickly grew solemn. "Professor Longbottom seems nice, but I haven't met any of the other professors. I hope there aren't any mean ones."

"Don't you worry about that," Harry reassured him.

"Okay, but what if-what if no one wants to be my friend?" It was clear that James was particularly worried about that.

"Well, then, send your old man after them, that ought to scare them into being your friend," Harry joked.

"Dad!"

Harry crouched a little so that he could look directly into James's eyes. "I don't think you need to worry, James. You'll have the time of your life at Hogwarts. There's nowhere like it. Now come on, let's pick out a cat for you." James made a noise of protest. "Sorry, did I say cat? I meant owl."

"_Dad!_"

...

Everywhere they went, people stopped to stare at Harry, or shake his hand. A few even asked for his autograph. He took it in stride, introducing James to anyone he didn't know or couldn't remember. After bidding goodbye to Susan Bones and her daughter, who had stopped for a long chat, they headed to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to meet up with the Granger-Weasleys, Albus, and Lily.

"I love this place!" James shouted before running off to join Rose, Hugo and Albus. Lily, meanwhile, remained by her mother's side.

"Hi, Daddy!" she said brightly, waving at Harry.

"Lily!" He scooped her up, causing her to squeal.

"I missed you, Daddy."

"I missed you too, Lils," Harry said, giving her a quick squeeze. He set her down carefully and smiled at her.

"Did you and James have a nice time together?" Ginny murmured.

"Yes," he whispered back. "He's still worrying about Hogwarts, but I think once he gets there, once it all becomes _real_ to him, he'll forget to be nervous and just have fun. That's how it was for me, at least."

Ginny smiled. "Yes, I think he'll be just fine. He's got your courage, after all."

"Rubbish," Harry said lovingly. "You're far braver than I am, Gin."

They gazed into each other's eyes until the moment was ruined by James, who yelled, "Oi, Mum! Dad! Get a room!" at which point they both cleared their throats and pretended to look around the shop.

...

That night, James excused himself from dinner and went up to bed early. After a quick discussion with his wife, Harry went up to his son's room and found him huddled on his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Hey, James," Harry said softly, taking a seat next to him. "What's going on?"

"I'm so nervous, Dad," James confessed, staring at his feet. "I know you said Hogwarts is going to be great and all, but I mean, what if everyone expects me to be like you?"

"They won't," Harry said firmly. "No one expected me to be like my dad - except maybe Professor Snape."

James let out a weak chuckle. "Did you feel this scared, Dad?"

"Definitely!" Harry nodded. "I didn't even know I had magic, remember, and I thought I was going to be so far behind everyone else."

"Everything turned out alright for you, though," James said, dropping his head onto his knees.

Harry reached over and squeezed his shoulder gently. "Trust me, it didn't always seem like it would at the time."

"Really?"

"Really. Hey, tell you what, your Mum and I will write to you every week and you can fill us in on what's happening. If you need any help, we'll do whatever we can to make sure you have the best possible time."

James's eyes lit up. "That would be great. Thanks, Dad."

...

"How's James feeling about Hogwarts after your little chat tonight?" Ginny asked, running her fingers along Harry's arm absentmindedly.

Harry smiled at her. "He cheered up immensely after I told him we would keep in touch several times a week."

Ginny snuggled closer and kissed him. "Good. It's going to be weird not having him around, but he's going to have so much fun. I'm almost jealous."

"What, you want to go back to school?" Harry teased.

"_No_," Ginny shuddered, "but when we weren't, you know, fighting wars and stuff, there were so many cool things to do."

"That's true," Harry said, leaning his head back against the pillows. "Like snogging."

Ginny smacked his chest lightly. "Harry James Potter, that is _not_ what I meant."

"Oh?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What did you mean, then?"

"Look at all the cool friends we made! The clubs we formed!" Ginny said.

"I'm not sure any of our friends are 'cool' and the _one_ club we formed was also highly illegal at the time," Harry snorted, playing with his wife's hair. Ginny swatted Harry's hands away and glared at him.

"Fine, but you can't deny that our years at Hogwarts were, for the most part, pretty fun."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, yawning. "Aside from the Voldemort parts, those were probably some of the best years of my life."

He bid Ginny goodnight and turned off the light. In a few weeks' time, James would be turning off the light in his dorm at Hogwarts, and Harry knew that his son would be, in Ginny's words, just fine.

* * *

Word count: 1,182

_A/N: Sorry, y'all, I know next to nothing about the Next-Gen characters, but I tried. Harry as the sort of embarrassing but also super kind dad was fun to write, though. _


	11. Sticky Fingers (Mundungus)

_Summaey: Mundungus Fletcher visits Godric's Hollow for the first time._

* * *

**Sticky Fingers Make Tidy Profits**

Mundungus Fletcher loitered around the town square of Godric's Hollow, shivering slightly as he took in his surroundings. It was a nice enough place, he supposed, what with the matching cottages and the quaint little church, St. Jerome's. Everything looked so peaceful covered with snow, too. However, he was not there to admire the village.

He lifted the bottle of ale he had procured from the nearby pub and took a large swig before moving closer to the memorial in the middle of the square. As he did so, it transformed before his eyes into the statue of Lily and James Potter, gazing down at baby Harry. He gulped. He didn't want to be reminded of them just now. Not with what he was about to do.

He turned his back on the statue and followed the snowy lane away from the square, taking long pulls from his bottle all the while. He crunched past several cottages, wincing every time his foot hit the ground. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, or, worse still, rouse suspicion.

Finally, Mundungus arrived at his destination: the ruins of a cottage now laden with snow just like everything else. He looked up at it, intrigued. Here was his whole reason for traveling to Godric's Hollow in the first place. Although it had been the site of two terrible deaths, he found that he was eager to get inside. Eerie though it was likely to be, there was no doubt in his mind that it would be worth the reward. He carefully peered around at the other cottages before pointing his wand at the gate and unlocking it. After a moment, he turned back and erased his footprints, too.

Slipping inside was like entering a time capsule - although there were some disturbances inside, no doubt due to the Dark Lord's attack as well as the Aurors who processed the scene, much of it had remained untouched for the last five years. Mundungus could see several coats hanging in the entryway, including a tiny blue one that must have belonged to the baby. There were still a few unbroken dishes in the dining room, too, and a floral armchair in the living room that appeared untouched by the commotion that had taken place.

Moving towards the stairs, he saw several broken photographs lining the walls. He thought about repairing them, or at least cleaning up the fallen glass, but then thought better of it. He didn't want anyone to know someone had been here. Walking gingerly so as to avoid the shards of glass littering the beige carpet, he made his way to the second floor. Here, he paused to gulp down some more ale, letting the slight burn distract him momentarily.

The first room was a bathroom, and it had, miraculously, been left alone. Mundungus gave it a quick scan before moving on to the second, larger room, which was clearly the family's bedroom. A large part of this room was exposed to the elements, including the snow that had started to fall again. A wooden crib still stood in the corner, however, and he eyed it eagerly. The floor creaked as he stepped towards it, and Mundungus remembered that the structural soundness of the cottage was likely compromised. He decided to stay where he was and Summon any objects of interest to him instead. His eyes fell on a little plastic rattle, which he quickly Summoned.

He turned the rattle over in his hands. It was the same deep blue as the coat downstairs, and part of it was clear so that he could see the little beads rolling around inside to produce the rattling noise. He smiled and put the object in his pocket. Someone, he knew, was bound to pay a premium for an item touched by "The Boy Who Lived." He then Summoned a few more objects, including an old edition of _A History of Magic_ that had been signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself, which he also pocketed, a red and gold Prefect badge, and several pieces of parchment that had been rendered unreadable by the snow. He even found a comb that, if he had to guess, had belonged to James.

Although the search upstairs was not as fruitful as he had hoped, Mundungus reminded himself that the two items he _had_ found were certain to fetch a handsome price on the black market, and that he had yet to scour the downstairs. He returned to the first floor, where he carefully sorted through the items in the dining room. The Potters had owned some nice silver pieces, including a pair of goblets and several mismatched candlesticks. He also knicked a man-sized black jacket from the coat rack, figuring he could at least keep that for himself. He didn't have any qualms about wearing the clothes of a dead man, after all.

Mundungus returned to the pub in the town square and spent several Galleons on more ale. Normally, he wouldn't have dared to spend so much money, but he knew he could count on more coming his way, hopefully very soon. He then retreated back into the snowy weather, enjoying the feel of the small, cold flakes on his face. He sat there for a while, staring at the statue of the Potters and drinking from his bottle. Occasionally, he thought about what it might be like to live there - to chat with the pub's bartender every day or visit the little graveyard behind the church.

Finally, Mundungus' extremities began to feel numb. He stood and stretched, shaking the snow loose as he did so, before taking one last look around the village. Godric's Hollow wasn't just nice, he decided. It was really quite beautiful. He would have to return someday. He fingered the rattle in his pocket and smirked. Maybe "someday" would be sooner than he thought. Who knew what other priceless relics could be found here?

* * *

Word count: 991

_A/N: I'd never really thought to write about Mundungus before but between a prompt to write about him and a prompt to write about a town square...this is what happened. I can totally see this happening, though. I mean, let's face it. Mundungus has no shame. _


	12. the hands we're dealt (Angelina, twins)

_Summary: Angelina finds out she's pregnant/a backstory to Angelina and Fred's relationship. Non-linear. _

_Warnings: some language, adult themes, canon character death._

* * *

**the hands we're dealt**

Angelina stares at the Healer, who can't be much older than herself, in shock. Pregnant? She can't be pregnant.

She can't be pregnant because if she is... it's _his_ baby, and he isn't going to be around to raise their child.

She can't be pregnant because the father of this child is dead, and he's never coming back.

...

"So, you're pregnant?" George asks, looking a bit uncomfortable. She nods once to confirm. He exhales sharply, and she's not sure if that's the reaction she wanted from him or not. "What are you going to do, Ange?"

She wraps her arms around herself. Around her not-yet-swollen belly. "I don't know, George. It's not like I planned for this to happen!" Her voice grows in volume; she's bordering on hysteria. This wasn't part of the plan.

None of this was.

...

"I love you, Fred," she whispers, gazing at him with a dopey grin on her face. The kind only he can elicit from her.

"I know," he whispers back. Then, when she punches his arm lightly, he adds, "I love you too, Angie."

He loves her back. Life has never seemed more beautiful.

...

"You should move in with me," George says.

Angelina stares at him for a moment and then bursts out laughing.

"I'm serious!" he insists. "Look, I've got the whole flat to myself now, and you—you should have someone to look after you."

"I can look after myself. I'm pregnant, not terminally ill."

But a week later, she moves in just the same.

...

"Fred!" Angelina screams. She scales the wreckage, limbs aching from the hits she's sustained, to kneel beside him.

His eyes are open, but he can't see her.

...

"Strawberry crepes."

George blinks at her. "Come again?"

"I want strawberry crepes for breakfast," Angelina says, looking him dead in the eye. "You said I could have anything I want."

"I'm not much of a cook," George mumbles.

"Neither was—"

She can't finish her sentence.

...

"Look, Angie, I made you a special breakfast for your birthday," Fred says, holding out a small silver tray.

Angelina sits up and yawns. "What is it?"

"Bangers and mash." He grins at the delighted look on her face.

"Oh, wow," she says, leaning over to spear a sausage. A moment later, she spits it out. "What the hell, Fred?"

"Don't you like it?"

She searches his face for some sign that this is a prank, but he looks perfectly worried. She laughs at the uncharacteristic expression. "It's not exactly edible, but I appreciate the thought."

Later, he gets his mum to make her a proper breakfast. She doesn't realize that it's the last birthday she'll ever spend with him.

...

"Mum made you some strawberry crepes," George announces, pushing a plate of them towards her. Angelina is reminded of the failed birthday breakfast and tears come to her eyes.

"She shouldn't have," she somehow manages.

George shrugs. He can't meet her eyes. "She wanted to. She says you can't deny a pregnant woman her cravings."

"I'm not," she begins, but then she remembers that she _is_, and her world falls apart all over again.

...

"Do you think you'd want to live forever?" Fred asks. They've just finished moving some boxes onto the premises of 93 Diagon Alley and are relaxing in the flat upstairs.

Angelina thinks before answering. "Forever is a long time."

"Yes, but would you?"

She looks into those eyes, those deep, blue eyes that sparkle and shine like sapphires. "I guess I wouldn't mind if I got to spend it with you."

...

Angelina grows used to sleepless nights. George has started to join her, to hold her until she can drift off again.

One night, he kisses her shoulder, and her blood turns to ice in her veins. She quickly rolls away from him and pretends to be asleep.

It's not like she hasn't thought about it, but she's pregnant with his dead brother's baby. Her life is messed up enough, thank you very much.

In the morning, George acts like nothing is wrong. To her, everything is wrong. It will always be wrong as long as Fred is gone.

...

"Why'd you pick me and not George?"

Angelina looks over at Fred and raises an eyebrow. "What kind of question is that? You're not the same person."

"Precisely." Fred fiddles with the sheet, but when he looks up, she realizes he's biting his lip. Realizes he cares about her answer.

"I dunno. I never liked George that way, but I liked you that way."

Fred leans over to kiss her, seemingly satisfied. "If you had a twin, I would choose you, too."

...

Angelina's stomach begins to swell. She hates it. She hates the way her body is changing and she has no one to tell her that she still looks beautiful.

George doesn't count.

...

The first time she and Fred have sex, things are...awkward. She doesn't know what to do, really. Fred doesn't seem to either, though, so they just fumble their way through it as best they can, laughing all the while.

She later thinks that she wouldn't have wanted to lose her virginity to anyone else.

...

"I love you," George says. Angelina shakes her head and tries to return to chopping vegetables.

"You don't, George. Whatever misguided attempt at taking responsibility this is—"

"It's _not_, Angie." He sounds so solemn, too.

Angelina turns and almost stabs him with the knife she's still holding. "For the love of Merlin, George, do you have to stand so close? You're making me claustrophobic."

"Sorry." He takes the tiniest of steps back. "But back to the subject at hand, this isn't me trying to take responsibility for anything—"

"It _is_. Last night was...it was a mistake. You can't love someone after one night together!"

He looks as though she's slapped him. "I can't really call it a mistake when I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. As for loving you, do you really think it came on that suddenly?"

Of course she doesn't. But she can't think about that right now. She can't think about how he feels, because then she has to confront herself about how _she_ feels, and that's too scary to contemplate. The last time she gave her heart away, it ended up shattered on the floor.

...

"Angie?"

"Yes, Fred?"

He turns to her, a serious look on his face. "I think I might be...falling for you."

She smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. "I think I might be falling for you too."

...

Angelina raps on the bedroom door. She's breathless from the walk up the stairs, but she can't put off her apology any longer. "George, talk to me."

"Go away."

"I'm sorry." She leans against the wall, still breathing heavily. "I never should have—I never meant to—it wasn't a mistake, okay?"

Silence.

Angelina takes a deep breath. "It wasn't a mistake," she repeats, a little louder.

The door opens, and a woebegone George looks down at her. He's pale and thin, and briefly, she wonders if he's been eating. They never eat together anymore.

"God, George, you look awful," she says softly.

He scoffs. "Thanks." He tries to close the door, but she's quick to stick her foot out, preventing him from doing so.

"I was—I _am_ worried about you." She clasps her hands in front of her rounded stomach.

"You and everyone else," he says with a humorless laugh. "Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

Angelina takes a step back. "George..."

"Don't 'George' me," he snaps. "Not after what you did."

"What _I_ did?" Angelina is furious. "I believe you had just as much culpability that night, George Weasley!"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" George says, balling his hands into fists. "I'm talking about the next morning, when you—when you _broke my fucking heart_!"

He slumps, suddenly so small and vulnerable despite his height. Angelina reaches for him, but he jerks away.

"George, please. Let me fix this," she pleads.

"You can't."

The tone of finality makes her want to break down and cry, but she doesn't. Instead, she walks away.

She walks away, but she does not give up.

...

"It's freezing in here, Fred!" Angelina whispers, shivering as she walks into Fred's room.

"Sorry about that," he whispers back. "We're trying out a new product — Temperature-Control Capsules. They instantly change the temperature of any room to extreme low or high heat."

Angelina rubs at the goosepimples on her arms, to no avail. "Can't you do something about it?" she whimpers.

"Haven't been able to figure out how to reverse the effects yet," Fred says apologetically. His eyes light up. "Tell you what, how about you join me under these covers?"

Angelina rolls her eyes, but joins him anyway. Even though they've been intimate with each other, the feeling of his body against hers still makes her blush fiercely.

"Better?" Fred asks, his voice husky.

"Shut up," she mutters.

Later, they give in to temptation and have sex again. It's better than the first time, and Angelina suddenly realizes that she would be happy only being with him for the rest of her life.

She also realizes that, in the heat of the moment, she forgot to use protection.

...

"I love you too," Angelina tells George a few weeks later.

"What do you mean?" he asks guardedly. She can't blame him for displaying some caution.

After a deep breath, she tries to explain. "I mean that I love you as more than a friend or a brother figure. I mean that my feelings for you have grown just as this baby inside of me has grown. I mean that I want to have a future with you, if you'll have me."

George looks at her for a moment, seemingly unable to speak. Finally, he whispers, "I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Angie."

When he kisses her, it's almost as though she's kissing Fred again, yet it's also somehow better.

...

Angelina names the baby Fred, after his father. It feels like a fitting tribute to the man she loved.

The man she loves now, agrees.

* * *

_A/N: The end feels sappy and rushed, but for my first attempt at a true non-linear story (hopefully?), I'm pretty proud of it. _

Word count: 1,690


	13. Caught Unawares (George, Angelina)

_Summary: George didn't realize today was the first day of figure drawing...(University!AU)._

_Warning: lightly sexual. _

* * *

**Caught Unawares **

George sighed and began to set up his easel for his observational drawing class. He hated observational drawing — he knew he had to learn the rules before breaking them, but he found the rules so...stifling. He just wanted to do his own thing, but if he wanted to receive passing marks, he had to conform to what the professor wanted.

He was so busy arranging his pencils and charcoal that he didn't notice the tall girl with smooth, dark skin and braids enter. When he finally looked up, he had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. This girl was stunning — he couldn't think of any other word for her. She was clad in a simple white robe that was short enough to show off long, toned legs. He stared at her, transfixed, until the professor announced that it was time to start the exercise.

"Miss Johnson, you may begin when you are ready. The students will draw for twenty minutes and then you may take a short break."

The girl nodded and untied her robe. George's eyes widened. What was happening?

Moments later, "Miss Johnson" was fully naked in front of him. Oh, God. How did he miss that today was the first day of figure drawing? And why did the model have to be so beautiful? George could feel a certain stirring down below, and blushed bright red. He hoped she wasn't looking at him.

It wasn't like George hadn't seen naked women before, but something about this model was magnetic, and he found himself so entranced that he knocked several pencils onto the floor when he went to grab one. He let out a quiet curse when he realized they had rolled away from the safety of his easel. He would have to move away from it, and his "tent" would become obvious to the rest of the class.

"Think of something awful," he told himself. "Think of...Ginny crying!"

His "problem" solved for the moment, he quickly retrieved his pencils and started to sketch. He drew several fluid, sketchy lines to capture the outline of the model's body, then began to focus on the details. He captured her powerful thigh muscles and pert breasts, and her wide, expressive eyes. With each line he drew, he found himself wanting to know more. Who was she? Why was she modeling for an art class? Was she single—

"Time's up!" his professor called. George set down his pencil and took a deep breath. He had survived one round. He could do this.

...

Class was over and George was slowly gathering up his supplies. A quick glance around his easel told him that "Miss Johnson" was dressed once more, in street clothes this time, talking to his professor about something.

He stopped to tie his shoelace, and when he stood up, he nearly bumped into her.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"It's all right." She was smiling at him, and he found himself grinning back at her. "Did you enjoy the class?"

"Yeah, it was—" George had to cut himself off before he said something embarrassing. "It was a good challenge for me. I don't usually draw naked women, you see."

"I could tell," she said with a smirk.

"I—what do you mean?" George prayed that she didn't mean what he thought she meant.

"Let's just say I noticed you were a little...excited," she drawled.

George felt himself flush, but decided to do what he did best and make a joke out of it.

"Oh, well, story of my life," he said lightly. "No boner goes unpunished."

"Oh, you think you're smooth now," she teased, but she was looking at him appraisingly. "You know, I like a bloke that doesn't take things too seriously."

George raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet you say that to all the poor students who get erections."

She laughed. "I don't, I promise." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "I'm Angelina, by the way."

"George," he replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Angelina smiled warmly at him. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Are you a student here, too?" George asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Sports medicine. I just do this modeling gig to earn a little extra cash."

"Hey, school is expensive, I get it," George said. "No judgements here."

Angelina tilted her head. "You're honestly one of the first people who's treated me like just another student, George. I really appreciate that."

"Well, if I ever take up modeling, I hope you'd treat me the same way," he joked.

She laughed again, and he found himself thinking that the sound was as beautiful as she was. "You seem really cool," she said at last. "Let me know if you ever want to grab dinner or hang out or something."

George reached for his sketchbook and tore out the last page, then proceeded to write his mobile number on it. "This is me letting you know you can hit me up anytime to hang out or grab dinner or whatever," he said as he presented her with the number.

"Great." Angelina folded up the paper and tucked it away in the pocket of her jeans. "I'll definitely take you up on that."

George bid her farewell and finished packing up his materials. All the way back to his dorm, he thought about the confident, striking girl he had just met. He couldn't wait for her to get in touch.

* * *

Word count: 908


	14. Haunted Houses (Dudley, Piers)

**Haunted Houses**

Piers quaked slightly in his too-big tennis shoes as he stared up at the haunted house in front of him. Dudley shot him a sideways glance.

"You're not scared, are ya, P-Dawg?" he asked, his tone vaguely challenging.

"'Course not," Piers shot back, immediately defensive. "I'm just cold, is all." He tightened his scarf and clutched his scrawny arms closer to his chest to prove his lie.

Dudley shrugged off his coat. It was a fancy, black down jacket with a fur-lined hood, and it had probably cost more than all of Piers' clothes combined. "Here," he said, holding it out to Piers.

Piers shook his head. He didn't want Dudley's pity. It was bad enough that everyone else treated him like a charity case. "Nah, mate, you keep it."

"You sure?" Dudley grunted.

"Yeah. Come on, let's go inside." Piers led the way towards the door, bony shoulders squared back. He could do this. Nothing but a bunch of actors in costume awaited him inside. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

...

Of the two, Dudley was the first to scream, much to Piers' relief. A clown wearing a purple suit and brandishing a bloody blade had just jumped out from behind a curtain, yelling, "Time for my next victim!"

"Jesus Christ!" Dudley sputtered.

Piers waited a moment for his heart rate to slow. "It's all just a bunch of hocus pocus, Big D," he said, trying to sound calm.

"You're right," Dudley said confidently. "None of this is real."

"Yeah, exactly."

They continued on. Piers was so busy looking around at the disembodied hands and gravestones, however, that he missed the ghostly girl who leapt out at them next.

He screamed, then swore. A father walking by with his young son gave him a dirty look.

"I have nothing to confess!" the ghost wailed, rattling the chains around her wrists. "I am innocent!"

"Erm, Piers?" Dudley said. There was odd expression on his face. "Why are you holding my hand?"

Piers quickly yanked his hand away, his own face burning. "I'm _not_."

...

Piers tried to remain vigilant as he and Dudley wandered through the rest of the haunted house. As they proceeded further into it, he got better and better at anticipating the scares, which meant less screaming on his part. Dudley, on the other hand, screamed just as loudly, if not louder, each time.

"Jesus, Duds," Piers whined. His ears were ringing with his friend's high-pitched shrieks. "Do you have to scream so loud?"

Dudley poked out his bottom lip while simultaneously glaring at Piers. "I'm not screaming _that_ loud."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

The pair argued about the volume of Dudley's screeches until they reached the exit.

"Is that all?" Dudley asked, looking disappointed. "That was fun."

Piers shrugged and lit a cigarette, which he took a long drag from. "It was alright, I guess." If he acted disinterested, maybe Dudley wouldn't drag him along next year.

Dudley looked over at him. "You want to come over and play some Mario Brothers?"

Piers brightened considerably. His friend had a sweet gaming setup with _all_ the latest equipment, and Piers loved being able to use it. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Word count: 534


	15. His Biggest Fan (Romilda)

**His Biggest Fan**

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" Romilda shouted, waving eagerly up at the Gryffindor Seeker as he wove in and out of his teammates. Once she had been apprised of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's training schedule, she had quickly made herself a fixture at every practice, and this one was no different.

Harry looked down, and Romilda pretended that she could make out a sparkle in his green eyes as he smiled at her. In reality, his expression was more of a grimace, but she ignored that. It was only a matter of time before he realized he couldn't live without her.

Most of the time, practice was rather boring — she spent much of it waiting for Harry to spot the Snitch — but she had to appear committed. Sometimes she snuck glances at the Witch Weekly she stuffed inside her bag, or nibbled on some crisps, but usually she fixed her gaze on Harry like a curly-haired hawk.

No one could deny that Harry Potter knew how to handle a broomstick, of course, but Romilda always felt a certain thrill watching him soar through the skies nonetheless. He was poised, elegant even, and he made it all look so easy. Romilda remembered the flying lessons she'd had back in first year — maybe flying was easy for HIM, but it certainly wasn't for everyone.

The rest of the Gryffindor team paled in comparison to the Chosen One, Romilda thought idly as she watched Ginny throw the Quaffle towards the middle goalpost. The girl missed by several inches, and Romilda felt strangely triumphant until Harry flew over to the redhead and clapped her on the shoulder. Romilda didn't know what exactly was going on between them, but the brief exchange filled her with a burning jealousy. She wondered if she could get away with hexing Ginny. No, it was too risky, especially if she fell off her broom. Then Harry would end practice and rush off to the hospital wing to be with her, and where would that leave Romilda? For today, Ginny was safe, but Romilda vowed to keep an eye on her.

A half hour later, she straightened in her seat as Harry sped towards something near the ground. "Go, Harry!" she yelled, jumping up to get a better look. A moment later, Harry raised a closed fist in the air. _"Yes!"_

Harry looked over at her again, and she blew him an air kiss. Oh, yes. One day, he would be all hers. She would make sure of it.

* * *

Word count: 420

_A/N: would love to expand this someday! _


	16. De-Aging Dilemmas (Sirius)

_Summary: due to an unfortunate (or not so unfortunate) accident, Sirius has been de-aged. _

_Note: this is rather rushed but I would love to expand on it sometime. _

* * *

**De-Aging Dilemmas**

"It seems that Sirius will be unable to help us clean the house for...a while," Mrs. Weasley announced one morning. Hermione looked over at Harry and the four youngest Weasleys in confusion. Had Sirius been sent on a mission for the Order and none of them knew about it? They wouldn't have missed information that juicy on the Extendable Ears, surely. In answer to the room's unspoken question, Mrs. Weasley sighed and added, "I suppose I may as well tell you now. You'll all find out soon enough anyway. Sirius!"

The door opened and a young boy walked out. He couldn't have been older than eleven or so, but he had a thin frame, gaunt cheeks and thick dark hair.

"Sirius?" Harry and Ron exclaimed at the same time.

The little boy's chest seemed to swell with pride. "That's me," he said, and Hermione's suspicions were confirmed. This boy...this boy was either related to Harry's godfather or—

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said grimly. "This is the eleven-year-old version of Order member Sirius Black."

...

Apparently, Fred and George had been developing some sort of de-aging prank item, but they swore up and down that it hadn't worked yet — "Trust me," Fred said earnestly, "you would know if it had, wouldn't you? You'd have seen mini versions of me and George running around all over the place!"

Still, Mrs. Weasley made it quite clear that the twins were to blame. Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing her so angry. She shouted at them until her voice was hoarse and made them clean the filthy bathroom on one of the upper floors of Grimmauld Place without magic. Hermione was sorry for them, of course, but she understood where Mrs. Weasley was coming from. Sirius could be trapped as this new age for a long time, maybe even forever, if someone didn't figure out a way to reverse the item's effects. The ramifications were devastating! Clearly, she was in the minority in thinking that, however.

Harry, Ron, and even Ginny found the entire ordeal quite amusing, much to her annoyance. Sure, Sirius was a cute — albeit slightly arrogant — child, but her friends all insisted on playing games with him and would dissolve into giggles whenever he spoke, even if he wasn't trying to be funny. Hermione just wanted to get more of the cleaning done, and Sirius was a distraction from that.

At least he seemed to be adjusting well to his new life as a ten-year-old. It was clear that he enjoyed not having any responsibilities — though Mrs. Weasley had no qualms putting her own children and their friends to work, those expectations apparently did not extend to Sirius. Instead, he spent much of his time sliding down the dusty wooden banisters, jumping out of wardrobes at passersby, and just generally being a rambunctious child. Hermione supposed he was trying to give himself the childhood he'd never had, so though his antics could be irritating, she did her best to embrace them.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, along with a few other Order members, tried to figure out a way to revert him back to the proper age. Based on information gleaned from the Extendable Ears, they weren't having much luck, and were hoping to get Dumbledore involved as soon as he had a moment to stop by.

...

Two weeks passed and Sirius was still eleven years old. Hermione was starting to really worry — at this rate, he might have to be sent off to Hogwarts with them. It wasn't as though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had time to look after another child, and most of the other Order members were busy, too.

"Psst, Hermione."

She turned to find Fred and George standing in the doorway to her room. George pressed a finger to his lips and beckoned her over. "Can you come to our room?" he said quietly. "We think we might know how to undo Sirius' age-reversal."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "How did you—_why haven't you said anything_?" she hissed.

Fred shushed her. "Because we're still not one hundred percent sure this works." He took a deep breath. "We wanted to run it by you and see what you think."

Hermione flushed slightly. The twins wanted to know what _she_ thought? That was a first. Normally, they were only too keen to ignore her reprimands. "Fine," she said quietly, "but I can't make any promises. You've heard your mum and dad — they don't seem to think anyone but Dumbledore can fix this."

"Yeah, but no one's asked for the exact incantation we used, which was in fact an enchantment of our own design," George explained.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. "They _haven't?"_

"'Course not." Fred sounded almost bitter. "It's not like anyone thinks we're clever."

"I think you're clever." The words slipped out before Hermione had a chance to hold them back, and her cheeks flamed. "I mean, sure, your items are a bit...unreliable at times, but I can't deny that the intelligence behind them is really quite impressive."

Fred peered at her. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?"

Hermione pushed past them, her face still burning. "Let's just get to your room and figure this out, if we can."

...

"Right," Hermione said briskly, "I think if you modify this part of the counter-spell, it will undo what's happened to Sirius." She scribbled the correction onto the piece of parchment the twins had shown her.

"Brilliant, Hermione!" Fred cheered.

"Yes, well, you two are just lucky I know a bit about spell theory and etymology," Hermione sniffed, but she smiled slightly at the praise.

"A bit?" George repeated with a scoff. "Merlin, Hermione, I reckon you could put some of our professors to shame!"

Hermione waved him off. "Alright, alright. Let's just test this, shall we?" she asked. She was fairly certain it would work, but nervous nonetheless. There was still room for error, and for things to go even more horribly wrong. And yet, it seemed better than waiting on Dumbledore, who still hadn't had time to come by.

Fred volunteered to go find Sirius. A few minutes later, he was back. "Found the rascal down in the kitchen with Mum. I told her we wanted to see if some of those kid's clothes Mundungus brought by the other day would fit him," he muttered, guiding the boy to the middle of the room.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Sirius? We're going to try and, erm, reverse the de-aging process."

Sirius crossed his arms. "Are you sure about this, Hermione?" It felt odd to be addressed so sternly by a child.

"Of course I'm sure," she said defensively. "Mostly," she added under her breath. Thankfully, Sirius didn't seem to hear.

Before anyone could come up with any objections, she raised her wand read the counter-spell. There was a flash of yellow light, and the boy began to shoot up before their very eyes. A moment later, a full-grown Sirius Black stood before them once more. He was more or less shirtless — the tiny shirt he wore as a child had ripped during his growth spurt — and the child's trousers he still wore looked uncomfortably tight.

"Oh, thank God," Hermione breathed.

"Welcome back, Sirius," the twins said in unison.

Sirius, for his part, looked almost disappointed. "I'd hoped I might stay a ten-year-old for just a bit longer. Would have been fun to see how long you lot would put up with me."

"Hang on," Hermione interrupted, "you were only ten? Mrs. Weasley said you were eleven! I thought you'd have to attend Hogwarts with us!"

"I may have lied to Molly about my age," he said with a mischievous grin.

Hermione shook her head. "You really are very much the same person, even all these years later."

"_Hell_ yes," Sirius replied. He laughed. "Merlin, it feels good to be able to swear again and not have you lot shoot me dirty looks!"

* * *

Word count: 1,335


	17. The Price of Information (Rita)

_Summary: Rita finds herself being held captive by someone she never would have suspected. Prisoner!AU._

_Warning: kidnapping, threats, all that good stuff that goes along with holding someone prisoner._

* * *

**The Price of Information**

Rita knocked back the last of her firewhiskey, barely flinching at the burning sensation it caused. She glanced furtively around the Leaky Cauldron — no one seemed to notice her sulking in the corner, though she supposed that might be because she looked drastically different than her usual put-together self. She had let her blond curls — once her pride and joy — go untamed, and she couldn't be bothered with heavy makeup. What was the point? She didn't have anything to get dressed up _for_.

Rita Skeeter was not, by nature, a sulker. She was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. Her tenacity was a gift, really, and one that had served her well as a journalist. Now, however...that horrible Granger girl had all but taken away her spirit, not to mention her livelihood. She barely had two Knuts to rub together.

"That'll be all," she said dully to Madam Rosmerta, who had hurried over to take her order — or so she thought. To her surprise, the other woman handed her another glass of firewhiskey. "Rosmerta, I didn't order this."

"I know." Rosmerta nodded towards the bar and added in a low voice, "Gilderoy did."

Rita looked over at the bar and did a double-take. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, the very picture of perfection, as usual. His blond hair was swept back and his black robes were immaculate. Certainly, he looked every bit the charmer that Rita remembered him as. But why would he have bought her a drink? Rita didn't do pity, so if that's what it was, she wouldn't drink it.

"Excuse me," she said. She walked off without touching her drink, leaving a confused Rosmerta in her wake.

She strode up to Gilderoy, only stumbling once on the way. "Hello, Gilderoy."

Gilderoy turned. Suddenly, Rita was hit with the full force of those baby blue eyes she had always admired. He smiled, flashing pearly white teeth at her. "Hello, Rita."

"The drink was an unexpected gesture." Rita gave him a friendly nudge. "So what gives, Gilderoy?"

He sipped his own drink — brandy, if Rita had to guess — before answering. "Can't I buy my favorite journalist a drink?"

Rita narrowed her eyes at him. "I haven't written an article in months."

"Yes, I noticed, and I must say, I find that rather curious," he said lightly.

She leaned forward. "Tell you what," she whispered, looking around to see if anyone had noticed the two of them, "if you come with me, I'll explain my...absence."

Lockhart's eyes grew wide, and Rita congratulated herself on piquing his curiosity. "Of course, my dear Rita. Lead the way."

Rita ducked her head slightly as she led him out of the bar. Thankfully, no one seemed to recognize her, though Gilderoy greeted a few people who waved at him. She tugged his arm. "Let's go, Gil."

If her use of a nickname surprised Gilderoy, he didn't show it. "Yes, onwards. To the truth!"

Rita rolled her eyes. And people thought _she_ was dramatic.

She guided him towards the alley behind the bar, not wanting anyone to see them Disapparate together. Once there, however, Gilderoy heaved a loud sigh and said, "I'm terribly sorry about this, Rita."

Before she could ask what he meant, he had grabbed her arm in a surprisingly tight grip and Disapparated.

...

Rita awoke, disoriented and confused, to find herself in darkness. She groaned and tried to recall what had happened to her.

_She had been at the Leaky Cauldron...someone had bought her a drink..._

She closed her eyes and tried to focus. _Blond hair...a gleaming smile..._

"Gilderoy Lockhart!" she said loudly, finally making the connection.

"Very good." His smooth, velvety voice made her shiver. "I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here."

Rita had been trying to feel her way out of wherever she was, but now she stopped. "As a matter of fact, I am. What the hell do you think you're doing? I could ruin you—"

"Oh no," Gilderoy said, sounding maddeningly pleasant. "No, I don't think you can."

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she had to remind herself to calm down. There was no way Gilderoy could know she was bluffing.

"You're bluffing," Gilderoy continued, and she bit back a gasp. How had he known? She thought back to the bar, and to his odd behavior of buying her a drink without making his presence known.

"You slipped something into that drink, didn't you?" she hissed.

Gilderoy laughed. Rita had always found his laugh charming, but now, it sounded positively deranged. "I suppose you'll never know. It would have been much easier on me if you had just drank it, though."

Rita clenched her hands into fists and tried to ascertain where his voice was coming from. It seemed to be bouncing around, never staying in one place. She wondered if it was some sort of magical effect he was using to confuse her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Rita," he sighed. She imagined disappointment etched onto that handsome face of his. "I thought that would have been obvious."

"Well, it isn't," she said through gritted teeth.

A lamp flickered on, and Rita looked around at the damp, grey walls. A large, grey rat scurried across the floor, and she let out a shriek, pressing herself into a corner. Where had he taken her? There didn't seem to be any windows or even a door, and when she reached for her wand to see if there was an enchantment hiding them, she realized it had been taken. She couldn't see Gilderoy anywhere, either. It dawned on her that he must be in another room. "Where are you, Gilderoy?"

Her voice echoed back to her, mocking and cruel. _Where are you, Gilderoy? _

His laugh sounded again. "That's neither here nor there."

"So I take it you already know about my one-year writing ban?" Rita tried to keep her tone neutral. She was talking to Gilderoy Lockhart, for Circe's sake. He wasn't _dangerous_.

"Oh, yes, I have ways of getting information out of people." Gilderoy sounded as though he could be smirking. "I just flash my pretty little smile and they bend over backwards to tell me what I want to know."

As he had been speaking, Rita had tried to transform into a beetle, but nothing had happened. He must have known she was an Animagus and put up wards to prevent her from transforming! Her breathing grew shallow. If Gilderoy knew that she couldn't write articles for an entire year, then he must want something else from her. But aside from her writing prowess, what did she have that he might want?

_Information_.

Of course. She should have figured it out sooner. Instead, she had walked right into his trap. Who knew Gilderoy Lockhart could be so cunning?

"I'm not going to tell you anything," she said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Suddenly, the light went out again.

"No?" Gilderoy asked. "What a shame. I guess I'll just have to feed you some Veritaserum and then let you starve to death. Or...we could do this the easy way. Your choice."

Rita gulped. She couldn't starve to death! Her looks would be ruined, and no one would ever know what became of her. She would just have to play along, that was all. Just play along until she managed to escape — and she was clever enough to, she knew. Besides, now that she thought about it, this whole ordeal could make for a very intriguing novel…

"Right," she said, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she possibly could, "what do you want to know?"

* * *

Word count: 1,291

_A/N: I can't decide if I want to just leave it there or continue it some day. :P_


	18. For the Love of a Centaur (Dolores)

_Summary: What really happened to Dolores Umbridge after she was carried off by the centaurs? _

**_Warning: implied bestiality._**

* * *

**For the Love of a Centaur**

Bane was Dolores' favorite. His thick black mane was positively luscious, and she would spend hours running her stubby fingers through it while he rumbled his appreciation. Sometimes his tail would lazily swat away a fly, and she would be left in awe of its shine. That wasn't even taking into account his soulful brown eyes, as rich and molten as liquid chocolate. Just one look would make her knees give way. Best of all, however, was his muscular form, which he often used to his advantage. No one had ever asserted dominance over her the way he did.

She didn't know when she had started loving the half man, half horse, but she suspected it had started mere weeks after she had been carried away by the herd. Bane had, by that time, been entrusted to bring her food, and his daily appearance with the usual loaf of bread and scraps of whatever animal had been hunted that day became something of a highlight. One day, however, he approached without any food, looking solemn.

"Human," he had said in that deep voice of his, "it is time."

Dolores had been afraid. "Time for what?" she had asked, her own voice shrill.

Bane had shifted uncomfortably. Finally, he had said, "For the mating ritual."

Dolores remembered almost falling over in shock. "I will not participate in any sort of ritual of that nature, you...you _beast_!"

"The stars have foretold it," had been Bane's calm reply. "Tonight is the night."

Dolores had protested, of course, shrieking and struggling with all her might, but as soon as Bane had tickled her neck with his warm breath, she had become nothing more than a lump of putty in his hands — that is, hooves.

She had enjoyed the intimacy far more than she had expected, and soon, it became a common occurrence. There was just something so fulfilling about being with Bane, something that she had never found with anyone else. He _completed_ her.

Now, she wondered how she had ever been without him. He was often a voice of reason and strength, but he could be playful, too. He could make her laugh so hard her sides hurt, and he loved her as much as she loved him.

...

"Have there been any changes?" the Healer asked quietly.

"No," came the voice of the other Healer. She clucked her tongue. "She's still having these...hallucinations, delusions. I don't know what those centaurs did to her, but she isn't getting any better."

"At least she's happy," murmured the first Healer.

Dolores didn't hear this exchange. She was too lost in her own little world.

* * *

Word count: 441

_A/N: I have no idea how much sense that made, but when one has to write about Umbridge, this is what happens. :P_


	19. Equinox Traditions (Lovegoods)

**MC4A**

**Fall Bingo: **D4 (equinox)

**Word count: **542

**Equinox Traditions **

"Luna, darling, do you know what today is?" Pandora asked.

Eight-year-old Luna shook her head and waited expectantly for the answer, grey eyes alight with curiosity.

Pandora leaned forward as if about to divulge a very large secret. "It's the autumn equinox!" she whispered excitedly.

Luna's eyes grew very wide. "What's that, Mummy?" she asked.

Pandora smiled and brushed her daughter's hair away from her face. Luna was forever running around with messy hair, and Pandora was forever fixing it. "It's kind of a fancy way of saying that it's the first day of fall," she explained. "And it's also one of two days when the sun is directly above the equator, making night and day the same length of time."

"Oh." Luna thought for a moment. "What do people _do_ on the autumn equinox? Is it like a holiday?"

"Well, it is for some people, as I understand it," Pandora said slowly. "Pagans — followers of an ancient religion that worshipped multiple gods — call it Mabon, or Second Harvest, and they might use today to meditate on balance, build an altar with harvest fruits and vegetables, or simply share food with others. Japanese Buddhists spend time visiting the graves of their ancestors and spending time with living relatives. There are many other cultures that celebrate it, too, but I'm not as familiar with their traditions."

Luna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Can we share some food with people today, then? That seems like a nice thing to do."

"What a delightful idea!" Pandora clapped her hands together. "Let's get started right away."

...

"Daddy, do you know what today is?" nine-year-old Luna asked.

Xenophilius' face broke into a wide smile. "Why, I do believe it's the autumn equinox, if I'm not mistaken."

"It is," Luna told him. "Mummy told me about it last year."

"I remember." Pandora and his daughter had cooked vast amounts of food and taken it down to the village to share. They had returned exhausted but pleased with their efforts. His eyes misted over. "That was a wonderful day."

"It certainly was," Luna agreed. "Maybe we could do it again this year."

Xenophilius struggled to compose himself. It wasn't so much that he was upset as he was unsure that he could replicate the experience of the previous year. "I—I'm not sure that's a good idea, my darling Luna."

"Why not, Daddy?" Luna waited patiently for him to respond.

"It won't be the same without your mother," he said, trying not to sound too sad.

"Oh," Luna said quietly. She looked so much like Pandora in that moment that Xenophilius' heart ached a little. "I see."

Xenophilius took one of her hands in his. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Daddy," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "It doesn't have to be the same."

"What did you just say?" Xenophilius breathed, hardly able to believe his ears.

"It doesn't have to be the same," Luna repeated. "As long as the idea's the same, it shouldn't matter if the execution is different."

Xenophilius turned away for a moment to wipe a tear from his eye. "You're right, sweet Luna. It shouldn't matter at all. What do you say we head to the kitchen?"

Luna was already on her way there.


	20. Just Fine Without You (Cornelius)

_Summary: Cornelius doesn't handle disgrace well. _

_Warning: alcoholism._

* * *

**Just Fine Without You**

Cornelius bought the bottle of firewhiskey without a moment's hesitation. It cost him twelve Galleons, which a more prudent version of himself might have protested.

But this version did not care.

This version of Cornelius Fudge had seen the Dark Lord's return to power, his name disgraced, and far more hate mail than any one person should ever receive in their lifetime. He had been sent Howlers, envelopes laced with Venomous Tentacula juice, and even packages of dragon dung. He didn't blame the senders, not at all, but it could be downright demoralizing at times.

And so he had turned to liquor to forget.

The initial burn of the firewhiskey made his eyes water, and he quickly pulled out his handkerchief to dab at them.

"Cornelius?"

He very nearly dropped the thin, white square. "Mathilda?" He tried to push the bottle away from him, but it betrayed him by making a loud scraping noise against the bar.

His wife planted her hands on her hips and sighed, which Cornelius knew wasn't a good sign. "The drinking needs to stop, Cornelius."

"It will," he said automatically, tucking his handkerchief away in his pocket. It pained him to lie to her, but she just didn't understand. He needed to be numb. Numb was his new normal, his shield from the vitriol spat at him by the rest of the wizarding world.

Mathilda shook her head, making her brunette curls bounce. "You're just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear."

Cornelius eyed his bottle longingly. He was too sober to be having this conversation. "No, I'm saying it because it's the truth, Mathilda."

"And yet, you can't help but look at a bottle of whiskey when you should be reassuring your wife that you're not some lousy drunk!" she snapped.

Mathilda's words stung. Cornelius dropped his head into his hands and stared at the bar, which was covered in gouges and stains. "I'm not a lousy drunk," he mumbled.

"You're sure acting like one."

He groaned. "I know. I just...I like the escape." He heard — rather than saw — his wife drop onto the stool next to him.

"Cornelius," she said softly, "please come home. We can work through your issues together."

He lifted his head with great difficulty and stared at her. "Working through 'my issues' isn't going to change the fact that I screwed up, Mathilda!"

"No, it isn't. But at least you've got one person in your corner," his wife said, placing a hand on his hand. "I'm willing to help, but I can't help someone that doesn't want to be helped."

He shrugged her hand off. Later, he would come to regret his next words: "I'm doing just fine without you."

Mathilda's eyes grew stormy. "Fine. I guess I have to do what's best for myself, then," she said icily. She twisted her gold wedding ring from her finger and threw it down onto the bar, where it glinted tauntingly at him. "Goodbye, Cornelius."

She stormed off. Cornelius watched her go with a heavy heart. His last bit of support, gone. That didn't stop a tiny voice inside his head from congratulating him, however. "You deserve to be all alone," it whispered. "Monsters don't get to live happily ever after."

He knocked back more whiskey and nodded. He did deserve to be all alone.

* * *

Word count: 559


	21. Mum 'Til the End (Rufus Scrimgeour)

_Summary: Rufus Scrimgeour refuses to divulge Harry's location._

Warning: torture, murder, canon character death.

* * *

**Mum 'Til the End **

Rufus isn't afraid to die. In fact, death is looking pretty welcome at the moment. The Dark Lord's goons are trying to torture Harry's location out of him, but he's not giving up a single crumb. He'll take that knowledge to the grave.

"_Crucio_!"

His body convulses, pain shoots through every nerve ending, but he doesn't scream. His teeth are gritted together to prevent himself from crying out at all.

"I'll ask you one more time, Scrimgeour: where is Harry Potter?"

Rufus unclenches his teeth. "I don't know," he spits.

The masked Death Eater snarls. "We'll see if the Dark Lord himself can't loosen your tongue, then."

"Oh my," Rufus says sarcastically. "What an honor." He receives a kick to the ribs for his cheek.

He doesn't know how long he lies there waiting, feeling his bonds cut into his flesh, but finally, the Dark Lord's pale visage appears above him.

"Rufus Scrimgeour," he says softly, and his cold, high voice makes the hairs on the back of Rufus' neck prickle. "Yaxley tells me you refuse to...cooperate."

Rufus nods, his jaw tight.

"I understand your hesitation," Voldemort continues, now pacing around Rufus' body. "You do not trust that we will keep you alive if you tell us where Harry Potter is. Well, I can assure you personally, Rufus" — Rufus flinches at the sound of his name falling from those lips — "your life will be spared. Just tell us where the boy is, and you will be free to go."

"Never," Rufus growls.

"Very well." Voldemort flicks his wand and Rufus feels himself being dragged to an upright position. "I want to see the life drain from your eyes, Rufus."

Rufus immediately squeezes his eyes shut, but a second later, his eyelids are forced open as if by invisible toothpicks. Voldemort laughs.

"You thought you would deny me that pleasure, Rufus? The Dark Lord is not so easily foiled. Now, any last words?"

Rufus shakes his head. Merlin, let it all be over soon.

Voldemort raises his wand once more. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Rufus smiles haughtily as the green light soars towards his chest. He won't live to see the end of the war, but he has faith that Harry Potter will prevail.

* * *

Word count: 374


	22. Housewarming Party

_Summary: Sirius decides to throw James and Lily a housewarming party. Will probably expand at some point. _

* * *

**Housewarming Party**

"We should throw Lily and James a housewarming party, Moony," Sirius announced.

Remus quirked an eyebrow at him. "They've lived in that house for about three months now, Sirius."

"So?"

"So...your timing just feels a little odd," Remus answered. "Besides, didn't Lily say you weren't allowed to throw any more parties after you set her baby shower decorations on fire?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "Bygones. She's probably all forgotten about that by now."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

...

"Didn't you tell him he wasn't allowed to throw any more parties, Remus?" Lily said, exasperated. "Didn't you remind him of what happened at my baby shower?"

"I most definitely did," Remus rushed to reassure her. "But, well...you know Sirius."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I do."

The pair of them looked at the flashing banners that proclaimed the Godric's Hollow cottage "The Love Shack." Pounding music was coming from some unknown location and there was an overpowering scent of cologne everywhere.

"Merlin, it's like he's trying to give me a headache," Lily groaned.

Remus pressed his hands to his eyes. "That makes two of us."

...

"Pete!" Sirius yelled. "You're late! Glad you could make it, though!"

Peter looked around nervously, as though worried he had come to the wrong place. "Well, I couldn't miss Lily and James's housewarming party. I didn't realize it would be so...erm, loud, though."

"Did you hear that, Moony?" Sirius asked, sounding delighted and more than a little drunk. "He says this party is loud!"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Only you would think that's a good thing, Sirius," he groaned.

...

"James, love, what's that sound?" Lily asked, tilting her head upward.

James frowned. "It almost sounds like..."

"No," Lily whispered. "It couldn't be...could it?"

Peter glared at them impatiently. "Is anyone going to fill me in on what's happening?"

"No," they said in unison.

Lily rushed up the stairs, James following close behind.

"Sirius!" she shrieked, barging into their bedroom. "Get out of our bed!"

Sirius rolled over and smirked at her. "What? Just warming it up for you."

Remus tugged the sheet over both of them and flashed his friends an apologetic look. "He said he needed to lie down for a few minutes."

"And you fell for it?" James laughed.

Remus grimaced before nodding. "Yeah. Sorry."

...

Lily sent everyone home, then immediately put the sheets in the wash.

"Never again," she kept muttering.

"Sirius meant well," James soothed, trying to massage her shoulders. "He just got a little carried away."

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, next time, he needs to get carried away in someone else's house! We're going to have a baby soon, James! We can't be cleaning up after him all the time!"

"I know," James said earnestly, waving his wand. The crumbs vanished from the sitting room carpet, and a small spill disappeared from the coffee table. "You're right, Lils. It's just... he's my best mate. I'm not going to cut him off."

Lily's face softened slightly. "I'm not asking you to cut him off. He just needs to find some sort of outlet to...express himself."

James snorted. "Sure. Maybe he'll pick up painting or something."

Lily giggled. "I'd like to see that."

...

"The party was a roaring success, wouldn't you say, Moony?"

Remus looked over at Sirius and blinked. "Did we even go to the same party?"

"Come on, it was great!" Sirius protested.

Remus shook his head. "It was...memorable, that's for sure."

"Memorable," Sirius echoed, then shrugged. "I'll take it."

* * *

Word count: 592


End file.
